


a cup of alcohol with a shot of coffee

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: Based on this prompt: does the “i slept with you the other day and i didn’t know we had a mutual friend and now we’re sitting across each other for brunch and it’s awkward because i ran out when you were asleep” au exist





	1. Chapter 1

Cisco took another sip of his orange juice, slurping it just a bit to see if it would garner a reaction from the pair sitting across the table from him. 

He was waiting on Linda to come join the group, though she was running uncharacteristically late. She had sent him a _there’s_ _no hot water and i can’t find my bra_ text, to which he replied _I’m_ _sorry for using it and check under the bed,_ so he understood. But what he didn’t understand was why Barry and Iris were so awkward…why there was so much tension between the two of them, though this was the first time they’d met. 

He was beginning to doubt that. 

Cisco knew Barry. Roommate. Cisco knew Iris. Dance partner. Cisco knew Linda. Girlfriend. Linda knew Barry. Triathlon coach. Linda knew Iris. Best friend. There was a whole lot of knowing. Except Barry didn’t know Iris and Iris didn’t know Barry, but the way they were doing everything they could to not acknowledge the other’s existence made him just a little suspicious like there was at least _some_ knowing going on.

Another bell rang. Another waiter cursed. 

Cisco smelled the omelette coming into fruition while simultaneously keeping his eye on the group of college bros making the waitress’s life hell. He saw her write a note while taking their order. He hoped it read what he wanted it to read.

Maybe next time, they shouldn’t have picked such a busy cafe to work at for a group assignment.

Cisco was the engineer. Barry the CSI. Iris the investigative journalist. Linda the sports connoisseur and fitness trainer. STAR Labs was investigating how the city’s basketball hero went missing two weeks ago, only to wind up buried outside an old high school gymnasium. Iris was assigned the story. Linda used to work personally with the athlete, so she was the first point of reference. Barry was the CSI who first analyzed the crime scene. Cisco was in charge of hacking into his phone and laptop to recover missing clues, as well as begin to design a new security system to ensure athlete safety. They were quite the ensemble - the city’s best resources of people working on one case, all who happened to have some connection to each other, except of course Barry and Iris. 

Cisco was really doubting that.

Just then, he felt a kiss on the side of his cheek, followed by an “I’m so sorry I’m late!” as his girlfriend plopped down next to him after giving Iris a side hug and Barry a hand wave.

Linda happily nudged his side as she picked up the menu, then looked across at the pair only to see their plates untouched, their coffee cups empty and their postures underwhelmingly weak.

She stared at Iris, but when the reporter wouldn’t meet her eyes, she turned to Barry, only to receive the same reaction, before finally turning to Cisco.

He gave her a shrug. 

And that’s how the rest of brunch went, with uncomfortably long silences that both Cisco and Linda tried to fill, with lots of talk about chemistry and computers, with awkward apologies every time Barry accidently bumped into Iris (at one point, he spilled his water glass on the table; Cisco banned him from anymore coffee after that), with the smell of food and the pouring of drinks, with a whole lot of chaos and a whole lot of keyboards clicking and incessant chatter and scattered pages and ringing phones.

Until the four of them stepped outside.

Then there was quiet. Because it was 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning and the streets hadn’t quite come alive yet. 

Linda hugged both goodbye. Cisco the same. They caught the same Uber away, but not before giving their respective friends the _we’re-so-talking-about-this-later_ look.

When they left, it was just Barry and Iris. Alone. On a nearly empty street. With the sun peaking out. And the cars passing by. 

Also with silence. 

There was a lot of silence.

Iris swept a strand of her hair behind her ear, before reaching into her purse to look for her keys. Barry turned his head slightly to watch her, making note of the way her brows furrowed and her curls danced with the slight breeze. 

He also noticed she was wearing what she had on last night. But he wouldn’t comment on that. 

“Shoot!” she winces as she feels a sharp cut on her finger, quickly lifting it from her purse to suck away the blood. 

Barry fully turns to face her at that. “You okay?” he mumbles.

“Fine,” she says, but he doesn’t miss the way she tenses up at the sound of his voice, “just stings.” 

She’d forgotten to take out her pocket knife, which ended up hurting her instead of anyone dangerous. That’s what she gets for not getting to sleep till 3 a.m. only to wake up again at 6 with a pounding headache. 

“Sure?” Barry insists, taking a step closer to where she’s standing.

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.”

Fine she is. Especially when she was in bed with him last night, when she was panting, all hot and sweaty, when she was kissing his jaw and he was hugging her waist close to his body and smelling all of her, a unique mix of sweet and ethanol.

She was fine last night. He hoped she was fine right now.

“I uh…I have a bandage if you need it,” he comments, already reaching for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans.

Iris looks up at him, straining her neck to meet his eyes, no heels to compensate for the difference in their height. “Bandages _and_ condoms?” she muses. “You have it all.”

He blushes. Bright red. 

Still he pulls it out, gives her a forced smile before gently reaching for her hand.

He’s surprised that she lets him take it, but nonetheless tears open the package and seals it over her index finger.

He runs his thumb along her knuckle, her hand still resting between the two of his. Really, it’s time to let go. 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at her again, only to find she’s already meeting his eyes, like somehow she was analyzing his face for something.

Probably an answer as to why he ran out. That seemed like a good guess.

A _honk_ in the distance jolts her hand away from his, and he’s reminded by how she did the same thing last night at the bar, how uncomfortable she was by the other guy who was aggressively hitting on her, touching her in places she clearly didn’t want to be touched, buying her drinks she didn’t want to drink, making advances she was trying to escape. 

He stepped in. Not to be a hero. Just to be a decent person. She bought him a drink as a thank you.

He drove her home. She kissed him.

He stayed the night. Till he ran.

When Cisco told him _we’re getting a badass journalist working the case with us who also happens to dance a mean salsa and is just your type,_ Barry should’ve guessed it was Iris West.

Who else but her? 

The same Iris West he stared at every time she was on TV. The same Iris West whose articles he’d read, one after the other. The same Iris West who was ridiculously intelligent and beautiful, who had a face that made his breath hitch and his heart race. The same Iris West who (technically) picked him up at the bar last night. 

The same Iris West who was working a case with him. Who was standing in front of him now, looking a bit shell-shocked and dazed. 

And here they were.

On a near-empty street with blank yet somehow full facial expressions, recalling a night of kissing and fucking and cursing, still looking at each other like there were so many questions, but so little answers.

Iris snaps the silence first. “I should go.” 

He nods his head _okay_ wanting to say so much more, but tripping over his own words. “So…so we’ll meet tomorrow, yeah?” she asks, fishing out her phone to put a reminder into it.

Barry’s slow to respond, mesmerized by the way her hands glide across the screen, by the way she looks all warm and enticing.

When she looks up to question his lack of response, he nods.

When she breaks his gaze to finish typing on her phone, he blurts out “or later tonight! I mean if you want.” 

He takes a breath, hand trailing to the nape of his neck, before adding, “it might be better to get started right away.” 

And for the first time all morning, he sees her flash that infamous smile, the one that makes him weak in the knees.

“You sure you won’t need some _air_?” she teases, and he swears her voice is a mixture of hurt and playful. 

His head hangs in shame. So they were talking about it. Not in the ideal location, but still somewhere.

“S-sor-”

“Don’t,” she interrupts him, “the one thing I hate more than tea is sorry.”

“Tea?”

“It’s a failed attempt at caffeine,” she smirks. He grins. Her wit was unmatchable.

“It was a fun night,” Iris continues after a delayed pause, “but we’re professionals. It’s fine.”

“Right.”

“You wanna meet tonight?”

“Only if you want to,” Barry replies, eager to see her again, though he wasn’t sure it was the best idea given they’d discuss what they discussed right now.

“Are you always this indecisive, Barry Allen?”

He inhales slowly before wrapping the cardigan around his body a bit tighter, not sure whether the breeze or her words were making him so cold. He avoids her gaze for a few seconds, focuses instead on the dog running towards them, on the kids chasing after it, on the parents laughing behind them.

“Just wanted to check with you,” he finally answers.

“You proposed it. It means you want it,” she counters.

“I do.”

“So you should say it.”

He sighs. “Okay. I’d like to meet tonight. If you’re free.” 

She smiles, tucking her phone away into her purse before pulling out her car keys. “You remember where?” 

“Yeah,” he nods his head, “it’s saved in my phone.”

“And my number?”

“Don’t have that,” he laughs. 

She stretches out her hand to him and he promptly pulls his phone out, unlocks it and hands it to her.

As she types away, he takes her all in again, notices the way her skin is all smooth and no rough, notices how natural she looks, how unguarded but vulnerable, how organized the files in her briefcase are, a stark contrast to the mess that was undoubtedly in her purse. The breeze sweeps across the street again, and this time he gets another wiff of her perfume, still as sweet as the night before, but less alcohol and sweat intertwined in it.

He sees her smile. He wonders what it’d be like to kiss her again. 

She snaps him out of his thoughts when she hands him the phone back. “Just give me a call an hour in advance.” 

“Okay,” Barry says, taking it out of her hand, purposely grazing her finger, feeling the same spark of electricity he did the night before. 

She pulls away too soon after. “I’ll catch you later Bear.”

She’s walking away before he can say bye, but her words ring in his ear, the nickname she coined for him making his heart flutter.

It makes him think back to their night, when he thought she called him the same name, but was too high off the rush of endorphins and her body next to his.

It was just a one-night-stand.

Sure one-nights-stands don’t usually involve two rounds of sex, followed by _breakfast_ in bed during the middle of the night, followed by talking for three hours straight, minus the kisses and stares. Sure they usually don’t involve lying in bed next to your “celebrity” crush, next to the girl who’s the talk of the city, who knows how to tell a sultry joke while her hand trails lower and lower down. Sure they weren’t drunk, though her scent alone made him dizzy last night, just like her scent now was making him shake in place, because Iris smelled sweet, smelled familiar, smelled like someone he knew from way back when, like someone he wanted to curl up next to on the floor during a rainy day, with the fire lit and music playing and hot chocolate streaming, with the two of them huddled up under a blanket, kissing and cuddling and laughing, alone in their own world.

He ran. So what? He was allowed to do that. She understood.

But something was pulling at his heart as he watched her walk away, as he took in the sway of her hips and fineness of her legs. 

It took all he could not to chase after her, not to run towards her instead of away. Because all of  _her_ was too intoxicating…too overwhelming. It was just a one-night-stand.

But it felt like love.


	2. Chapter 2

To add on to all the stress of her life, a boy with a pretty face just had to sweep in with his baby green eyes and long eyelashes, have a heart-to-heart conversation that made her feel like they’d known each other during the past lifetime, only to run out on her before the morning sun greeted them. 

It just wasn’t fair.

Iris comes back home, lost in her thoughts about the entire situation that just happened. She and Barry were meeting again for work tonight. The same Barry who’s apparently working the case with her. The same Barry she slept with the night before. The same Barry who made her heart flutter after a night of spontaneity and - what was shaping out to be - regrets.

Just her luck.

So when she opens her door, all she wants to do is collapse on her bed, to fall asleep. Her head was pounding, a mixture of the remnants of alcohol and too much thinking. But of course, Linda was waiting for her at home, already perched on the couch, with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Seriously?” Iris stares, shutting the door behind her with her leg.

“Perks of having a key,” Linda smiles.

Iris makes her way inside, haphazardly tosses her coat on the floor before plopping down on the opposite side of the couch where Linda was sitting.

“Didn’t you already have a cup?” 

“Since when do you police someone’s coffee intake?”

 _Touche_.

So Iris exhales deeply, her fingers massaging the sensitive skin of her temple, resorting to silence instead of anymore questions. 

“You okay?” Linda asks, staring at Iris. No answer. Just a groan.

Linda lets her be, going back to type something furious on her laptop and Iris feels herself drifting off to sleep, the sharp clicks of the keyboard oddly soothing her head (probably because they let her turn off her thoughts); her eyes close steadily as the time passes.

Until she hears Linda’s voice again. “Do you know him?”

She forces her eyes open. “Barry?”

Linda glares at her.

“Yes, I know him. Just met last night actually.”

“Where?”

“Bar.”

“Why were you at the bar?” she asks, pursing her lips.

It was a good question. Bars and drinking and anything too loud (besides dance competitions) really weren’t Iris’s thing. She rarely went out, one reason being her work schedule was too demanding, the other that she found solace in being alone most of the time. Less people meant less feelings to hurt. And meant less people who could hurt her.

“The guy I had an interview with wanted to meet there.”

“At a bar?”

“At a bar,” Iris confirms with a nod of the head, “late at night. For drinks and a talk.”

“And…?”

“He turned out to be a creep who thought the best approach to professionalism was to put his hand on my thigh and try to get me drunk.”

Linda goes quiet and Iris knows that’s something she’s dealt with too many times to keep track of. “Are you reporting it?” Linda asks after some time.

“What’s the use? So another incidence of sexual harassment can be swept under the rug?” She pauses before adding, “plus it turned out fine. Barry stepped in.” 

“You took him home?” 

“He offered to drive. Didn’t feel like getting into the car with any more unpredictable strangers.”

“So you got into a car with a stranger wh-”

“-who was predictable, yeah Lin, I did. And he seemed sweet,” her voice resonates, a little louder than she intended for it to be, a little sharper for a conversation with her best friend, who wasn’t to blame for any of this, who was only trying to help.

Still, she doesn’t want to apologize. So she rests her head back against the couch, demeanor indicating complete exhaustion.

Linda seems to pick up on it, saying “you’re on edge,” in a much calmer tone while migrating closer to Iris on the couch.

Iris sighs. “I’m just annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because life likes to play games I don’t have time for.” 

Another few seconds go by with nothing but the hustle of the wind outside. Somehow it's gotten colder than Iris remembered it to be when she first walked in, and she thinks whether she has enough energy to go turn on the heater. Eventually, she decides against it when her feet throb in pain again.

No more heels for a week, she notes.

“Eddie?” 

For some reason, she still can’t help but cringe when she hears his name. 

Iris turns her head to Linda. “He keeps calling. It’s been five month. But he keeps calling.”

“He misses you probably.”

“I keep breaking his heart,” she shrugs, a little crack in her voice, tears threatening her eyes. “No,” Linda shakes her head.

“I do and you know it. I was the one who ended it.” 

Linda reaches out for her hands. “Yeah for good reason, Iris. It ran its course. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.” 

“He’s a sweet guy,” Iris defends.

“He needs to let it go,” Linda counters. Again. Silence.

A few more moments pass by, with Linda gently rubbing the backs of Iris’s hands. And Iris can’t help but feel grateful for her best friend in moments like this.

“What else?”

“This job can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Yeah but it’s you. You’ve handled it before. You’ll handle it now.” 

When Iris doesn’t respond, Linda adds with a little bit of spunk, “coffee’s on me this week. So hang out with me as much as you want.”

That earns her a smile.

She pulls Iris in for a hug, holding her tight for a few minutes. Iris exhales deeply, grips Linda as she relaxes her worries for the time being. 

It feels warm again by the time they pull away.

“So...Barry?” Linda prods, somehow knowing there was more to the story than him driving her home.

“We slept together,” Iris avers blatantly.

“Ahh,” Linda pauses, “was it good?” “Great.”

“So why was it awkward today?”

“Because he ran out.”

Linda cocks her head.

“Yeah, one minute he was telling me he needed a breather, the next thing I knew, it was 6 a.m. and he still wasn’t back.” 

“When’d he leave?” “3.”

Linda doesn’t shift her eyes from Iris, watches the way her face drops just a little. “Y’all were up that late?”

“The conversation was good.” “Yeah?”

Iris nods. “The sex was too. But the last three hours were just talking.”

Linda waits for her to continue.

“He’s….soft. I don’t know how to explain it. He’s all warm and no rough.”

“And he ran?”

“I guess so,” Iris responds, a little more deflated when she hears the words out loud.

* * *

Barry bought flowers before driving over. He wasn’t sure if it was overkill, but somehow it felt wrong to show up empty-handed, given he left her hanging without any explanation. And she’d been understanding and _kind_ about the entire thing.

Flowers felt like the right choice. At least he hoped they were. Then again, with his luck with Iris, she might as well be allergic to them and he’d have to drive her to the hospital for inadvertently harming her. 

Or maybe he shouldn’t have gotten irises. Maybe he should’ve stuck with roses. But according to Cisco, roses were too cliche (that was an interesting talk to have with his roommate; he was surprised Cisco hadn’t kicked him out of the apartment, given how mad he was at him. _Barry every time you see her on TV, your knees practically buckle! You buy every newspaper that has her article in it! You SLEPT with her and you ran out?! What is the matter with you??_ And really, what was Barry supposed to say? _I think I’m in love with her._ Cisco wouldn’t let that slide, not a chance).

He stared down at the flowers again, doubting the decision one more time, before finally shaking his head and shrugging off the uncertainty. It was too late to go back now. Irises would have to do.

So he knocks on the door twice and waits for her to open. Iris greets him with a neutral face. “You’re late.”

She steps inside and leaves the door open for him, and he hurries inside, flowers still in hand, grip tight on them. 

“S-sorry,” he stutters.

She turns around to face him, before looking down at his hand to see the variegated flowers tucked neatly inside. “Those for me?”

“Y-yeah!” Barry promptly displays the flowers to her, “sorry if it’s a bit cheesy,” he laughs. She takes them, her lips curling upwards.

“I still hate apologies.”

“So-”

“Barry,” Iris fully smiles now, sniffing the flowers before looking at him, “stop saying sorry.”

He grins.

“Thank you for these,” she continues, “they’re really beautiful.” 

 _Like you_ , he wants to add. Instead, he feels his cheeks heat and he keeps smiling at her, his eyes not seeming to find anywhere else except hers to look at. 

The silence stretches on a bit too long and when Iris doesn’t break it, he does, feeling exposed. “So…” he rubs the nape of his neck, “I guess I shouldn’t apologize for leaving you last night?”

“I might kick you out,” she laughs, eyes not leaving his, and he crinkles his nose in response, feeling a warmth from the beauty of her gaze. “But I’d like an explanation for that at some point.”

“Iri-” 

“ _Some point,_ ” she emphasizes, “but this is a work-meeting right?”

He stills in place, a sheepish expression still on his face.

“I mean,” Iris continues, enjoying the way he blinks a few times, like he can’t believe she’s standing in front of him, “that’s why you wanted to come over, yeah?” 

Barry nods his head slightly. “Guess so.”

“Great. Let’s work.”

They somehow sit side by side after some time had passed, and neither Iris nor Barry knew how that happened. But one minute, he was sitting at the opposite side of the table, across from her, and the next, they’d both found a way to the floor, so much so that her shoulder was pressing against his.

That was another thing - they liked touching each other, almost making an unconscious effort to do so. When Iris was showing him something on her phone, his finger managed to graze against hers. When he noticed she was shivering a bit from the cold, he draped an arm around her shoulder, rubbing it softly and didn’t move it till she got up to turn on the heater. When he pushed his hair back, Iris laughed, saw how he instead ruffled it even more, and ran her fingers through it, taming the stray strands. 

They worked on the case, the conversation they were having today a stark contrast to the one they had last night. Last night, they both agreed to not discuss anything work related. Instead, Barry told her about his family, about him losing both his mom and dad and growing up without anyone in his life. Iris, in turn, told him about her mom passing when she was younger, about the strain it caused between her and her dad, but how it made her and her brother a lot closer. They talked about dreams and aspirations. She made a joke that she hated wishful thinking, and he didn’t have the courage to ask whether it was wishful thinking to believe she was falling in love with him as well.

But now, with the way she was looking into his eyes, he wants to ask her the same question again.

Instead, he breaks their eye contact, looking down at his watch. “It’s been four hours already?” he questions, voice filled with disbelief.

“Guess so,” Iris shrugs, suppressing the tug of her heart when he turns away, shifting her attention back to the screen.

Barry almost doesn’t want to ask the next question, but feels like it’s calling out to him. So reluctantly, he asks, “should I leave?”

That gets her attention back on him, and she can see the hesitation in his pretty green eyes. “If you want,” she whispers, the words coming out shy and raw.

Barry gets lost in her eyes for a moment, her gaze something made of magic, so hypnotizing and warm. He feels the words stick in his throat, but manages them out after a few seconds. “It’s up to you.”

“You’re the one asking Barry,” she says, her eyes dipping down to his lips before coming to greet his again.

He didn’t realize they were so close, but now he can clearly feel her shoulder pressing into his and feels the way their bodies are side by side, only separated by thin layers of clothes and nothing else.

He also didn’t realize that her right hand and his left were grazing, their pinkies almost interlocked. Barry holds his breath.

“Can we talk about it now?” he whispers softly, and he doesn’t know why he’s insisting on it, doesn’t know what else he’d say besides _I’m_ _sorry I’m sorry I’m so so so sorry,_ but he feels compelled to ask, like he has to make her understand that it wasn’t her. She was perfect and he was so far gone.

At the sound of the question, Iris pulls back, suddenly breaking their trance. He notices she doesn’t move her hand though.

“Is this still a work meeting?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Barry answers.

“Is the explanation long?”

“Probably,” he laughs, knowing himself a little too well, “I might get lost in my own words.”

She flashes him a smile. “Thank you for the honesty.”

He nods.

“How about you explain over a cup of coffee Monday?"

Barry almost wants to ask _why_ _not tomorrow?_ but he swallows it. Instead he replies, with sad eyes, “work all day.”

“Even during the evening?”

“I can get off at 6,” he explains, “but that’d be too late for coffee, yeah?”

“Mmm not for a journalist,” she grins.

“Okay,” he lets out a breath, “coffee then. I can pick you up.”

“Actually how about I’ll come to your lab?”

He raises his eyebrows. 

“CCPD isn’t a far walk from CCPN and I’d rather help the environment.”

“Ahh. _Touche_ ,” he smiles.

“So…"

“So...it’s a date?” he asks with such a hopeful voice that he blushes when the question leaves his lips. Luckily Iris looks at him with eyes that twinkle and nods her head in affirmation, this time bringing her hand to cover his.

He holds it immediately, its warmth more vibrant than what any heater could do.

“It’s a date.”

She kisses him goodnight before he leaves. A kiss on the cheek. But a kiss nonetheless. And he smiles all the way home.


	3. Chapter 3

Iris’s visits to CCPD were minimal. Given her dad was a cop and given the nature of her relationship with him, she usually avoided the place. 

The setting was still too eery for her; she was forced to come a lot when she was younger, after her mom passed away. Her dad was working constantly and her and her brother needed somewhere to go because home still smelled like her mom, but the station smelled worse somehow.

For a long time, they didn’t talk about it. For years after her mom’s death, she and her dad remained silent. Iris wanted to discuss it. Joe, not so much. She understood for the first few years. But five years after Francine’s death, when Iris was ready to go to college, she wanted some peace of mind. 

Her dad refused. Instead, she confided in her brother. Again. 

Since then, her relationship with her father had been strained. Better now. Better given how comforting he was to her after he found out she and Eddie broke up. But still distant.

So she avoided CCPD. The wounds were still too fresh. The pain of those years in her life somehow managed their way back into the forefront of her brain every time she had to stop by to do an interview for an article she worked on. That was really the only reason she visited - for work. 

And for Barry. 

She walks up to his lab, after getting directions from one of the younger detectives. The station was quiet this time of night, given it was 6 and everyone presumably had a family to go home to, had somewhere else to be. 

Except Barry Allen. 

Because when she sees his lab, the door was wide open and he seems invested in something entirely out of this world. 

It’s cute. The way he’s hunched over, the way his eyes are scanning and rescanning something on the page, the way his hands are frantic, one jotting down words, the other flipping through files.

That was another thing about Barry she realizes: he’s messy, but an organized kind of messy. In which his papers spread the entirety of the table, but it’s clear to her he has some system worked out, by the way it only takes him one try to find exactly what he’s looking for, whether a pen or file. 

She checks her phone before taking another step inside. _6 p.m_. sharp.

“Am I interrupting?” she says, cautiously, so not to surprise him, but the efforts are without reward as he immediately jolts out of his chair, dropping his pen in the process. 

“Iris!” he squeals excitedly, “Hi..hi! You’re not interrupting!”

She watches him stand up promptly, before eyeing the fallen pen and kneeling down to pick it up. He’s _really_ tall, all limbs and flail, but he also seems really solid. And she wants to greet him properly, wants to walk over and give him a hug, maybe even another kiss.

Instead she plants her feet to the ground, her body stilling in place. Except her lips. Those turn upwards to give him a reticent smile.

“I’m sorr-” Barry quickly rescinds the word, sheepishly looking at her before changing the sentence. “You don’t like apologies. Right.”

“Right,” she affirms, with a little head nod. 

He takes a step closer to her. “I lost track of time.” 

“It’s okay. You seemed invested in something important. It’s nice.” 

He smiles bashfully, the compliment making the blush of his cheeks a little warmer. “I…I just…” he grins even wider when his eyes meet hers, “I think I figured out the case.” 

She takes another step towards him, her feet betraying her, his happiness infectious. They’re close now, both migrating to the center of the room. If she takes another two steps forward and he does the same, they’d be eye-to-eye.

“Congrats Bear,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, this time his voice quieter and a little more shy. He beats her to the two steps, takes them before she manages to, and he waits for her to meet him halfway.

The sirens of a fire truck outside grab her attention and she looks down to her watch, the time now  ** _6:04._**

“Ready to go?” she asks, a bit timidly. He nods his head, but doesn’t move.

She does, takes another step closer to him and before she knows it, his arms are around her waist and he’s hugging her, hesitantly might she add, but still hugging her.

She reciprocates it, the smell of his cologne too calming for her to resist, and she curls into his chest so her head is resting against it. 

His chin comes to rest on her head before his lips replace the spot.

And Iris finds herself wishing their entire date would consist of this. Because he’s all soft and no rough; it was the only way she could describe him, her words lost by how good it feels to be wrapped in his embrace, a reminder of how sweet their night together had been.

“Hi,” he breathes into her hair. 

She pulls away to see his face, her heart beating a little too rapidly and she wants to quiet it down. It’s just a hug.

Well, a hug and a kiss.

“Hi.”

“I’m ready whenever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answers quietly, his hands still playing with the fabric of her jacket, still slowly roaming along her back, “but I still think it’s too late for coffee.”

She smirks. “I get the feeling you don’t like coffee, Mr. Allen.”

“On the contrary, I love it!” he defends and she likes the way his hair moves when he makes sudden movements, “it’s just late.” 

Iris takes that as her cue to pull away and she misses him, misses his body pressed against hers, misses the warmth. But there was a conversation to be had. 

“I insist.”

Barry stares at her for a few seconds before nodding his head slowly at first, but coming to a consistent pace. “Okay,” he smiles, “lead the way.”

* * *

 

“Iris, you’re gonna be up all night,” Barry laughs, taking the final sip of his coffee before tossing it in a nearby recycling bin. 

She was already on cup number two, insisting earlier that they go back to the cafe to grab another cup before continuing their evening stroll.

That was another thing about Iris. She liked moving, she liked having something to do. He offered to stay in the cafe, to order their drinks and have a conversation at a table. But she told him _it’s_ _a nice day outside, we should go for a stroll_ and he couldn’t resist, not with the way she smiled at him, not with the way her eyes were all big and hopeful, so he agreed.

She looped her arm through his. 

They talked about Cisco and about dance (Barry asked if he could come watch her and Cisco do a dance routine sometime; she told him that he could anytime he wanted, given Linda was already an active audience member) and about sports (and how he was training for a triathlon. Iris made a joking comment that she’d train with him; little did she know, he wasn’t letting her off the hook without doing it, since she said it) and really everything else they could manage.

And here they were now, with him having finished his coffee an hour into the date and her almost done with her second cup.

“Sleep is for the weak,” she says, downing the last sip, before tossing the cup into the same recycling bin he threw his in. 

“We should’ve gotten tea.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because tea is a lackluster attempt at caffeine.” 

He stops them in place, underneath the city lights and the dark sky. The sun set a lot earlier this time of year and at 7 p.m, there were only synthetic lights tonight. Even the moon was nowhere to be found.

He sees her shiver a bit and absentmindedly takes his jacket off.

“Barry, it’s okay,” she hurriedly stops him, shaking her head.

“It’s fine,” he smiles, “I’m used to these kinds of nights.”

He slips the jacket off and drapes it around her shoulders, lingering a little too long with the newfound proximity until she’s fully enveloped in the fabric.

She laughs and signals to the sleeves. “It’s a bit big.”

“Mm you’re just really small.”

That earns him a smack to the shoulder. But then she curls into his side, presumably for the heat. Not that Barry minds or cares about the reason.

He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. Her body feels really cool in contrast to his, and he hears her hum in appreciation of the added heat.

“You’re warm,” she sighs, as they continue walking. “I’m lucky, I guess.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence as they walk over to a park and meander inside. Barry uses his free hand to signal out a bench and she follows him to it. 

He doesn’t want to let her go.

She seems not to want to let him go either, by the way she hesitates before pulling away, her hand still wrapped around his waist.

“You sure you’re not cold?” she asks after they both sit.

“I’m sure, Iris,” he says with a grin, “but it seems like you could’ve used mittens,” as he watches her blow into her hands.

“I think we should’ve stayed inside,” she laughs. 

He reaches out and takes her hands in his, moving close to her so that their knees practically touch. Slowly, he rubs them between his, in attempts at helping her warm up.

“We could go back.”

Iris meets his eyes for a few seconds and he notices the way her nose is a little red and the way her lips slightly part and he wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss the cold away.

“It’s okay,” she smiles, “I like it here more than inside.”

“So. You like outside more than inside. You like coffee more than tea. And you hate apologies.”

“Three for three,” she winks, cocking her head to the side.

“Why do you hate apologies?” he asks sincerely, the question on his mind ever since their run-in during brunch. 

“I find them a bit useless.”

He raises his eyebrows but waits for her to continue.

“I get that mistakes happen. I’d just rather someone make them not happen again, instead of saying a word that, more often than not, turns out to be meaningless.”

“Personal experience?”

He watches her let out a breath, the air from her mouth clear in the night sky. He was starting to feel a bit cold himself now, but her hands in his were keeping him warm, somehow. 

“My dad used to always apologize to me for not being able to talk about my mom’s death. After the fifth time, it felt like an opt-out instead of a sincere feeling.” She exhales before adding, “and my ex-boyfriend and I broke up for the same reason.”

“He apologized too much?” Barry asks.

“Something like that, yeah. He would always say sorry when he did something to hurt me, only to do the same thing again the next time.” 

Barry nods his head. 

“Anyway, I just find it pointless now.”

“Noted.”

Her eyes dip down to their hands and she, much to his surprise, intertwines them together, before bringing her eyes back to meet his. 

“You had something you wanted to explain, yeah?”

He nods his head slowly, the word _yeah_ muffled by the sound of the wind. He hears another car pass by in the distance. It was a pretty quiet night, relative to the previous shrill of summer days.

“I can’t apologize?” he asks, as an icebreaker. 

She shakes her head, an amused look drawing on her face.

“Okay,” he sighs. “I think I was just really overwhelmed.”

“By me?”

“No no,” he shakes his head promptly, still holding her hands, “not by you. I mean, yes kind of by you…but not you _you_ …

This is harder than anticipated.” 

They share a laugh, but he feels her give him a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“We hit it off really fast. And it was intimate and close and sincere and everything a one-night- stand usually isn’t. And it didn’t help that you’re the girl I’ve had a crush on for about a year now.”

“What?” she gapes at him, eyes wide open.

“Yeah,” he answers casually with a little smile, “you’re the one and only Iris West. Best reporter in all of Central City.”

She breaks their eye contact, her eyes dipping down to their hands. “You’ve read my articles?”

“Iris. It’s you.” 

When she doesn’t reply, he continues.

“It was just weird, I guess, meeting you at the bar and then going home with you. It all happened and I think I just…”

His voice trails off and she brings her eyes to meet his again, and he recognizes something hopeful in the way she’s looking at him. He thinks he wouldn’t mind staring into her eyes every day, every morning and every night, wouldn’t mind holding her close and waking up in her arms. 

And he doesn’t know whether all these things are normal but he’s feeling them nonetheless and she seems to like him, by the way she’s still not letting go of his hands, by the way she’s looking at him like he means everything to her.

So he concludes, “…I didn’t want for it to just be a one-night-stand.” 

She kisses him that night, on the lips and everything, with her tongue licking his lips open and her hands roaming in his hair and her body pressed against his, and he relishes in how she feels inside his arms, how she makes him feel, all soft and warm, like he finally has someone who feels like home.

They decide on their second (or was it third?) date together before she leaves him. But he doesn’t let her go without one more kiss goodnight.


	4. Chapter 4

Barry and Iris were fools in love and Cisco and Linda didn’t have the time or patience for their denial. After a month of stolen glances and kisses when they thought they weren’t being watched while they were supposed to be solving this case (which luckily they did), the couple had just about had it with this so-called “secret” relationship. Though, to be fair, neither Cisco nor Linda thought they were doing the _secret_ part on purpose.

Because they were fools in love. Fools who got so inexplicably giddy at the mention of the other’s name. Who looked at each other like they were the only two in the room, no matter how many others there were around them. Who got lost in each other’s voices, who theorized together and teased each other when one cracked the puzzle first and bought each other coffee as an apology for “too much teasing.”

Basically, there was too much adorable and both Cisco and Linda had a cutoff to how much cute they could swallow. 

So it was no surprise that after Cisco and Iris finished their dance routine to an audience of Barry and Linda, successfully nailing the final move of a synchronized backflip to end their salsa dance performance (Cisco called the routine “ballroom infused with hip-hop”), Barry practically jumped off the floor and picked and spun Iris around, his joy a little too excessive for it to be _just_ friendly support.

The deal was sealed when he kissed her. Right on the lips. Right in the middle of the dance studio. And she kissed him back. And Linda and Cisco stared at them with an expression that read _it’s_ _about damn time_ before fist-bumping and saying they owed them shots for having to put up with all this nonsense for the past month.

Iris and Barry obliged. What else were they supposed to do? 

Which led the four of them to a fancy bar on a Friday night as both a celebration of cracking the case and to honor the new relationship.

“We need to set some ground rules,” Cisco says, before downing another shot of tequila, courtesy of the guy who insisted on buying Linda drinks for her _entire_ group because he thought she was single and she wasn’t one to pass up a free drink.

Iris quickly hands her dance partner a lemon and he squeezes it dry into his mouth.

“Okay!” he answers, his face a little perkier now, “you need to tell me when she’s” - he points to Iris (or at least tries to, instead signaling to the waitress who gives him a confused glance) - “staying over. I’ll stay with Linda. Aaaannnnndd you gotta tell me when you’re” - this time he looks at Barry, his brown eyes dancing - “staying at Iris’s cuz that way I can invite Linda to stay the night! With me!” 

“Mmm,” Linda laughs, affectionately rubbing his shoulder, “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“It’s Friday!” Cisco defends, “there can never be too many shots on Friday night! And they’re paying!”

Iris and Barry laugh in unison and Iris cuddles a little closer to Barry on the booth as they both watch Cisco order another round of shots. 

“I’m just glad Linda’s the one who has to take care of him in the morning,” Iris whispers into Barry’s shoulder.

“I think I’ll tell him I’m spending the night at your place,” Barry smiles, placing a kiss to her forehead before giving his roommate an all-too-familiar thumbs up.

 

* * *

 

On this particular morning a few weeks later, Iris sneaks out of bed, leaving a sleeping Barry, to migrate herself into the kitchen. 

They’d had a little gathering with Cisco and Linda the night before, and Iris didn’t realize the mess they’d managed to make.

She scrubs the dishes aimlessly, her phone playing quiet background music, and she’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t realize Barry’s presence till he snakes his arms around her waist, placing a lazy kiss to her neck.

 “You didn’t wake me up to come help,” he sighs, pulling her closer to his chest.

She grins, enjoying the newfound warmth of his body. “It’s too early to be woken up,” she says.

“It’s 11, Iris.”

“It’s Saturday morning Bear. Plus you drank more than me.”

“But I have a higher tolerance,” he smirks, placing another kiss to her cheek before adding, “let me do the dishes.” 

“It’s okay. You can get the coffee started though.”

He shakes his head and loosens his grip on her. “You and your coffee.”

Barry steps away from her to grab another filter out of the cubby, and in doing so, notices the lack of mugs inside. When he spins around, he sees the counter with an array of mugs, all which have soap and water tracing their outlines.

“Why’re you washing all the mugs?” he asks.

“Oh! Well we were doing shots out of mugs yesterday.”

He jogs his brain, but the headache combined with the slight hangover doesn’t let him get too far with progress. “We were?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “Cisco’s idea. I’ve been looking all morning for where he hid the shot glasses. So far, I've found two.”

“..he hid the shot glasses…?”

When Iris nods again in response, he adds, “where was I when this happened?”

“I think that’s when you and Linda greeted the delivery guy to get the four boxes of pizza. Poor guy.”

She points to the trash bin and Barry’s face takes on a confused expression. “We ate four boxes of pizza…?”

“Oh yeah. You and Cisco had a bet going.”

“Who won?”

Iris turns to face him, her nose scrunching from one of the soap bubbles coming into contact with it. “Cisco. You passed out too soon to continue.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeahhh,” she laughs, “it’s okay. Next time, I’m sure you’ll win.” 

He looks at her and when he sees her smile at him, he can’t help but do the same, her lips all too welcoming and her eyes all too loving for him to feel anything but happy, despite the headache.

“Did they get home safe?”

“They did.”

“Okay. Good.”

He goes back to putting the filter in the coffee machine and she goes back to washing the dishes, but Barry can’t help but sneak glances at her with the way she’s moving her body and swaying her hips to the music, with the way she’s so tenaciously cleaning every last drop of alcohol off the plates (he doesn’t know what they used _those_ for) and mugs, and Barry finds himself lingering on her longer and longer before he decides to go back over to her, after starting the coffee machine. 

So he wraps her up again from behind and grazes his hands underneath her shirt, tugging at the fabric a bit and she laughs when he kisses her neck, nibbling on a spot he knows tickles her. He loves that sound. The sound of her laugh. Loves the way she smiles all big and bright, loves the way the world seems to spin a little slower when she’s happy.

That’s not the only thing he loves. He loves the way she smells, of something sweet, of something so uniquely her, and loves the way she speaks and the way she gets so excited when she gets a break writing a story or nails a new dance step, and he loves the way she cozies up to him when they’re sitting together and the way she hugs him with open arms whenever she sees him and the way her head always makes its way to his chest. 

He loves the way she kisses him, and how sometimes it’s tight-lipped and quick and other times it’s lazy and warm, and he loves how she wakes up with him every morning, how she reminds him to enjoy the day before leaving, how she sometimes surprises him at CCPD with coffee, how she goes out of her way to make him feel so special. 

And he loves her intelligence and the way she’s so quick, the way her wit is always infused with a little bit of sass and a whole lot of spunk, and he loves how eager she is to tell him about her day and how eager she is to ask him about his.

He loves the way she listens to him. The way she looks at him, so concentrated on his words, the way she nods her head and crinkles her eyes when he says something profound, the way she laughs at his jokes, how it’s always sincere, how she’ll tell him when they’re not funny, but she’ll kiss him on the cheek and remind him she loves them anyway.

He loves her.

So he tells her. With his arms wrapped around her waist and his hands resting on the bare skin of her stomach and his lips grazing her neck, he tells her. “I love you,” like it’s the easiest thing to say, and he doesn’t feel afraid anymore. He doesn’t want to run from her ever again, only wants to run towards her because she’s _home_ , all of her. 

When she stops moving her hands and the sponge drops from her fingertips, he says it again. “I love you.”

And when she turns the water off and spins around in his arms, he rests both of his hands on her hips and says it again, because he can, because she deserves to hear it, because he’s been in love with her ever since he’s first met her. “I love you I love you I love you.”

She looks at him, her mouth hanging just a little open and Barry sees her face take on a few different expressions in the span of five seconds, before it settles on something…something content and honest.

She doesn’t say anything. Just stands on her tiptoes, drapes her arms around his shoulders before planting both hands - with all their foam and wetness - flat on his bare back. 

He lets out a little _yelp_ in response to the cold. 

She laughs and leans in to kiss him, but before their lips meet, she smells the coffee and hears the machine signal its readiness, so she pulls away from him and steps out of his embrace.

And Barry’s eyes follow her movements. He can’t get himself to move, and even though she didn’t say it back, he somehow knows she feels it too, so he can’t help but feel happy and relieved, because he wanted to tell her, he’s been _wanting_ to tell her since their first night together, and he doesn’t regret any of it, even if she’s not ready to say it yet. 

But then she turns back around to face him, extends her hand out to give him his shot glass of coffee, so he graciously takes it from her, reciprocating the smile she gives him too.

It’s only until he brings his lips to take a sip that she looks at him with smiling eyes and says, in a voice so soft that he almost misses it, “I love you too.”


End file.
